When you think eating disorder, you probably think of some beautiful girl who doesn't eat and always exercises and is perfectly thin and maybe a bit sad. But most of all, you know she can be saved. Well, I'm here to tell you that's not always the story. Sometimes it's just some fat ugly bitch who is too stupid to just lie down and die, and thus must be dramatic about it.

I'll give you a hint: that's me.

Yes, me, Ginny Weasley, who was always so strong, so independent in her family of all boys. Confession time, that was all an act. Gutsy, confidant Ginny Weasley never really existed. I tried so hard to be her, but I never quite made it. That Ginny had tons of friends, was pretty, happy, married Harry Fucking Potter, savior of the wizard world. As for me, I was alone, ugly, unhappy and unloved. I always was. I suppose you're probably wondering how a girl with such a perfect life got this way. That's what I'm here to tell you about, unfortunately.

If you're expecting traditional story-telling with a plot and narration and whatever the hell else, then stop reading right now. This is my story, and I'm going to tell it however I want. Alright? Alright.

Moving on. I'm the youngest of seven, and a girl. So I had to hold my own amongst the boys, yet still be girly enough to please my mum. Let me tell you, it's tougher than it seems. Lots of therapists want to say that that is the reason I'm so screwed up, but I beg to differ. Some of them say it's an aftereffect of the war. Wrong again. A few even point to the fact that I was possessed by Voldemort himself, maybe some residual taint remains. In case you can't tell, I've seen a shit-ton of therapists. And all of them are pretentious assholes who don't believe me when I tell them the real reason behind all of this. What is it, you ask? I'm getting there.

So, I went to Hogwarts, made friends, fell in love with Harry, etc. You all know that story. Well, you think so, at least. And now you're all waiting for me to drop a bomb on you, say that I was abused or in love with Voldemort or something stupid like that. In reality, it's a lot less exciting. Actually, it's downright fucking pitiful. Do you really want to know how all this shit started?

I was trying to impress Harry.

There you have it. I ruined my entire life for some guy who married me anyway. I told you it was pitiful. Hell, even Harry yelled at me when he found out. I was perfectly happy and threw it all away because I thought it wasn't enough. See, therapists don't believe you when you say that. They keep looking for a trigger. But I found one who is pretty damn good. And, believe it or not, it's Luna.

Yes, one of my best friends is my therapist. To be totally honest, she's the only reason why I'm writing this. She thought it would be good for me. But trust me, this is just the beginning. It gets a lot worse from here. This right here is your final warning. Don't. Keep. Reading.